


Credit Card Baby

by jenny_wren



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-10
Packaged: 2018-09-16 13:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9274190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_wren/pseuds/jenny_wren
Summary: kink meme fill for Enjolras has a sugar daddy who inadvertently funds les amis - second fic for fun this has a different sugar daddy and is not linked to the previous story





	

Grantaire is mostly asleep. Work has been a blinding pain in the ass all week, but his schedule is finally clear and he has nothing to do except laze around his apartment. He’d be asleep right now but Enjolras is curled up beside him, scribbling industriously into the notebook he carries everywhere, and Grantaire is enjoying his presence too much to waste the time sleeping.

Enjolras is the most ridiculously beautiful boy Grantaire has ever seen. What makes it worse is he doesn’t even try for it. Grantaire has kept other boys before and they always arrived carrying at least two wash bags of products that do things (Grantaire is a bit fuzzy on the details, nothing on earth is going to make him look good so he’s never been bothered with stuff that does things). Enjolras on the other hand will come flying down the road to meet Grantaire when he picks him up and collapse in the car in a sweaty disorganized heap, glowing with exertion and so beautiful it hurts to look at him.

He never brings anything with him except for the ever present notebook, and sometimes a laptop when he has essays to finish for university. Grantaire’s bought him clothes - mostly expensive loungewear, like the cashmere sweater and track pants he’s wearing now, soft and fuzzy in a way Enjolras, really, really isn’t - and a toothbrush, but otherwise Enjolras uses Grantaire’s stuff, and after a lifetime of being completely unbothered by toiletries, Grantaire is amazed at the charge it gives him to smell his coconut shampoo in Enjolras’ hair.

Leaning forward to breath in the scent, Grantaire presses a kiss to the nape of Enjolras neck, to try and make his sniffing impulse less creepy and because Enjolras has scooped up his hair into a short ponytail and the soft vulnerable skin revealed is irresistible.

“Just a minute,” says Enjolras authoritatively. And Grantaire loves that too, the little glimpses of who Enjolras will be when he’s grown into his gawky limbs. Usually Enjolras is an adorable kitten, but every now and then the adult teeth and claws show through.

Grantaire waits semi-patiently while Enjolras finishes his train of thought and puts his notebook down. Enjolras gives a little shake as he comes back to himself and remembers where he is. He turns to Grantaire and, oh, Enjolras has remembered he wants something, he’s smiling wide and fake, body tilted in a way somebody must have told him was seductive but mostly just looks strained.

“I was thinking we should go shopping this weekend,” Grantaire says because he can’t stand Enjolras being uncomfortable even for a moment.

“Really?” Enjolras relaxes immediately, smile softening with gratitude. Grantaire pulls his awkward boy forward because he just has to kiss him.

“Yes really,” he agrees, Enjolras soft and pliant in his arms.

Although Enjolras is as eager for expensive presents as any of Grantaire’s previous companions, he’s completely uninterested in choosing them, unlike say Julian, who left catalogues strategically around Grantaire’s apartment with the pages bent down, or Marc, who’d name-drop a constant drip feed of his favorite designers and sulk when Grantaire bought him something else just to be contrary.

Shopping trips are not the drawn-out marathons Grantaire remembers from his days with Anthony. In fact he has a suspicion they’d be over in about thirty seconds if he let them, Enjolras is a total magpie, as long as it’s bright and shiny he doesn’t care. Grantaire always drags him clothes shopping too though because, well he’s not a saint and the chance to get Enjolras to dress up and parade around for him? Even a saint wouldn’t be able to resist. 

Also, about three changes of clothes in, Enjolras forgets he’s supposed to be being agreeable and either stalks around with all the dignity of an outraged cat, or gets into the spirit of things and starts to strut about like he’s auditioning for the catwalk. Either is utterly endearing. 

Grantaire grins at the image and has to stop himself hugging Enjolras too tightly. He strokes his hand tenderly over the golden hair. Enjolras sighs and cuddles in close letting his head rest against Grantaire’s shoulder. His eyes are closed and he’s more than half-asleep. Grantaire traces one gentle finger across the line of his cheek and smiles as Enjolras hums happily under his breath. For long moments they drift drowsily together.

The three sharp pips from his alarm are an unwelcome interruption. Grantaire doesn’t want to move but he really does need to just check the news and make sure nothing’s happened that he’ll need to reassure his clients about. He scrabbles for the tv remote as Enjolras struggles to wake himself up making grumbly soft sounds and knuckling his eyes.

The news is as depressing as always, Grantaire keeps an ear open for anything relevant and watches Enjolras who is blinking fiercely and projecting ‘I’m awake, I’m awake’ the way Grantaire imagines he does in too-early college lectures. Enjolras has never objected to Grantaire’s news habit, and the few times Grantaire has had to go away and make phone calls, he understood. Sometimes Enjolras is alarming perfect.

The anchor continues to share their budget of misery and finally they get around to the local news. Enjolras stiffens up so Grantaire pays more attention and,

“Oh for goodness sake,” Grantaire growls, upping the volume so he can hear all about the latest round of ridiculousness. Protestors drive him mad, all they do is cause disruption, they never actually solve anything, just enjoy listening to the sound of their own voices.

This particular mess turned into a riot, which Grantaire could have predicted, and he can feel a rant building in the back of his throat, when he sees the car.

It shouldn’t be that distinctive a car. Enjolras actually turned down a sleek, shiny sports car on the grounds of practicality, and, after some effort on Grantaire’s part, finally admitted he’d like to be able to give his friends lifts and what he really wanted was a minivan. So Grantaire kitted him out with a soccer mom’s dream car and tried to hide his grin at Enjolras’ excitement. Enjolras drives the hell out of it too, it’s already been into the garage for its first service.

So not all that distinctive a car, except that Grantaire is interested in everything about Enjolras and a number plate isn’t that hard to remember. So that is definitely Enjolras’ car right in the middle of things with three female protestors on the roof hanging onto each other and screaming at the crowd through megaphones.

Grantaire looks over at Enjolras.

Enjolras visibly stops himself squirming.

Grantaire glances back at television and braces himself for whatever lies he’s about to hear. He doesn’t like it when Enjolras lies to him but there’s not much he can do about it. There’s rustle of cloth from the other side of the couch and then Enjolras is easing closer. He rubs the side of his face against Grantaire’s shoulder and presses a kiss against his throat.

“You should turn the tv off,” Enjolras purrs, “there’s nothing interesting on.”

His clever boy, distraction is a much better tactic than lying. After another coaxing kiss, Grantaire obediently clicks the off button. In reward, Enjolras wriggles around so he’s sitting on his lap. He strokes his hands down Enjolras’ back, rucking up his t-shirt to run his hands over warm smooth skin. Enjolras hums appreciatively as his elegant fingers undo Grantaire’s shirt buttons, and he lays a trail of soft little kisses down Grantaire’s chest as he goes.

With a graceful twist of his hips Enjolras slides off Grantaire’s lap and onto his knees in front of him, the final kiss landing on Grantaire’s belt buckle. Then Enjolras stops and grins up at him, wickedness dancing in his eyes as he deliberately traces his lips with his tongue.

Breathing heavily, Grantaire digs his fingers into the couch cushions to stop himself grabbing Enjolras’ golden hair. Enjolras ignores Grantaire’s cock, obscenely distending the front of his slacks, and delicately undoes his belt. Leaning forward he kisses Grantaire’s navel and at the hot wet flick of tongue Grantaire cannot hold back his groan.

Enjolras grins like he’s won his point, unzips Grantaire fly and eases out his cock, stroking it with his clever fingers and then licking it with a broad swipe of tongue. The cool huff of breath that follows makes Grantaire shiver. Enjolras looks up at him from under his lashes, to check he’s watching, because Enjolras always looks good, but he looks especially good as he slides his plump pink lips around Grantaire’s cock.

He can’t deep throat, and his frustration over that fact was kind of adorable until Grantaire put a stop to his attempts because he didn’t like the way Enjolras started to force himself, choking and retching as his body rebelled against him.

Instead he has Enjolras’ tongue circling the head as his hands work the rest of his length. He gets to watch the furrow form between his brows as he devotes the concentration normally reserved for his class work to sucking Grantaire’s cock.

Grantaire doesn’t mind pretending to be blind to the lies and evasions when he can burn out his sight on such an image. His focus narrows down to Enjolras’ intent blue eyes and then the world burns electric as he comes in Enjolras’ warm mouth.


End file.
